Dear Rain,

I see you've come back to my neck of the woods. I was expecting you; it's like clockwork every year you and your April Showers.

It's been a while, but gotta say, you're looking fine. Bigger, louder, bolder, wetter than I remember. It seems like every time we meet you look better than before. Pulling a Benjamin Button on me? Maybe a Max Tivoli? I always preferred Max, he has a sweetness about him. Tall glass of rainwater, that one.

You get a bad rap, it isn't really fair. It isn't your fault that some lady planned her wedding on a day you're working. You can't help it if people don't happen to enjoy their picnic food soggy. And just because your best friends are a little rowdy doesn't make you the bad guy when Little Tommy's Dog hides under the bed.

I like to focus on your good qualities: your whisper, your green thumb. I don't mean to be forward but you make me feel sexy as hell just standing there feeling you all over me. Rain, you are the absolute best way to get wet and I mean that with all connotations intact.

I love the exhilaration that comes with running from you, laughing as you chase me about. I've been trying to outrun you since I was 5, zigzagging wildly about and telling mom how I beat you at tag dripping quietly on the kitchen floor.

Just wanted to tell you that I'm rooting for you. I won't say that I don't need some time for myself, a little space. (You don't want to become the geek in math class who girls wish they hadn't ever cheated off of because as soon as you receive eye contact you become an obsessed stalkery mess and drool all over their yearbook picture.... in front of them. Ew.) And yeah, I'm friends with Sun too, so we'd probably hang out.

But hey, you should come over sometime and we'll have a picnic lunch, heavy on the H2O.

Yours, Truly